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Dead Worlds and Wooden Boys
He tightened my sash, so tight I thought I would collapse. I told him, and he laughed. '' “''This is the honor sash of our house, little one. Is the honor of our house too heavy?” “''No father”, I muttered. What else could I say? '' “''Today, you’re going to meet the Emperor Kahless himself. Are you not excited?”'' I had no answer. I wasn’t. I had just been given my first training bat’leth, and I was hungry to prove my skill. Let me correct that – I was hungry to prove I could lift it. '' “''Do you know the legend of the wooden boy?” he asked. I shook my head, but I loved my father’s stories. '' “''The wooden boy was crafted by an old man, who had always wanted a son. The boy trained with his bat’leth, and was very strong. His wooden legs carried him faster than the other boys, and his wooden arms never grew tired. He was a happy boy, with many friends, who both feared and envied him his gifts. “''But over time, the boy’s friends became warriors. Their chests broadened, and their skin became scarred with the wounds of glory. The wooden boy did not understand. He continued to race, and play. He could float in the waters and never sink. But he could not win glory. He was a toy, who could never bring honor to his house.'' “''As the years past, the old man grew sad. He had thought his skills could build something good, that could fill his heart, but he had only created an abomination. The old man killed himself from shame.'' “''What happened to the boy?” I asked, at the edge of my seat. '' “''He painted his face to look true. He learned to act the part. But he was always a boy, who could not learn. He could never grow up. He never knew true honor, and the wooden boy grew rotten to the core. '' My father was quiet after that. Soon, my brother joined us, and we left to meet the Emperor. '' ''For weeks afterwards, I had nightmares of the wooden boy. '' ''-Korath, Azaram. Personal Logs '-----------// Dead Worlds and Wooden Boys\\--------------------- ' It’s strange, what a day might bring. She was gone again when I woke up. This time, with no word, her ship simply vanished… her quarters stripped bare, but for a personal transporter left behind– perhaps a gift by way of apology… more likely a way to find her, if I chose to give up what she’d call my “idiot’s crusade”. Ariennye of House Korath… the dagger that cuts both ways. I can only pray that she finds peace on her quest and that we may one day meet again. I hope, when that day comes, we meet as friends. I already plan on having my brother’s head on a spike – I would hate to add my sister’s as well. We’d received a coded distress call from the survivors of Martok’s loyalist fleet – I’m afraid that by choosing to investigate my brother’s attack on Gamma Trianguli, they were left vulnerable for too long. The fleet was destroyed, but the survivors were still clinging to life … on the desolate planet of Tribble Prime. These men were willing to lay down their lives for Martok and pledge themselves to the cause… I owed them no less. Our course was clear. But something was pulling at me. Something unfinished, unresolved… an enemy at our back. Bejor. The Crystalline Entities. Knowing what I now know – that they were the enemies of Molor the Accursed, enemies of the Klingon race in the ancient age of heroes… I could not simply walk away. Nezak was quick to point out the strategic advantages; a trip to Bejor could not only increase our knowledge of the enemy, but there may be survivors on the planet. There was certainly a fleet of derelict Breen ships, if we could find a way to capture them from under the Entities crystal noses. While our ship warped towards our goal, Nezak and I studied my father’s journals. Slowly, his work is coming into focus: the stuff of fantasy, come to life. Chronometrics. Transwarp Engineering. Subspacial Networks. Cloning. Even Nezak, a man with more smarts then our own ship computers, admits to being baffled by the level of expertise. My father, a Klingon, baffles the high minded green blood. I can’t help but feel pride. That same green blood however is no stump. He introduced me to a new term – “economic warfare”. He was hacking the Klingon Intranets almost as fast as he could explain it to me, something about moving small amounts of money through many accounts, an invisible hand reaching into my brother’s pockets and moving the latinum into our own. I’m told we now have a secure, hidden account, filled to bursting with the funds of the Empire’s war machine. It’s not theft – it’s the money of my house. Money that my brother was using to wage a war against the interests of our people. The amount is constantly growing, but it’s already enough to boggle the mind. Needless to say, it’s enough gold pressed latinum to heal many wounds. Or sharpen many blades. Nezak is a good man. He may listen to his head, but he follows his heart – and his heart beats with the drums of the Red Path. Before him, I’d never realized that our journey may not end with the death of my brother and the False Kahless. It may not end at the borders of Klingon space. Sometimes, I must stop myself from collapsing under the weight. I am no longer a boy, too small for science, unable to lift his bat’leth. But what man is big enough for such a destiny? I promoted Nezak to the rank of Captain. A mostly ceremonial gesture as we only possess two ships, he’s in command of the newly christened Tok Vo’Morath. We both shed our blood on that deck, green and red. She’s now a ship of the Red Path – she will serve us well. \/ Not knowing what to expect from the Crystalline Entities, we approached Bejor as cautiously as a child in a saber cat’s den. Knowing that I was both a liability and an advantage, I held back on the Morath, the Romulan transporter ready to beam me into the fray at a moment’s notice. With a crew of loyal volunteers, Nezak took the Kahless into the system. I was loath to leave the bridge of my ship, but a proper job requires the proper tool. When Nezak entered orbit, he was supposed to auto deploy our one shuttle – a perch for me to alight should he find himself in trouble. In other words… a hook for me to dangle from. Through the open channel I listened as he began preliminary scans. From the cloaked bridge of the Kahless, the ship went unnoticed, a first hurdle crossed. The Breen Armada had gained a small collection of Cardassian scout ships, some greedy spoonhead attempting to capitalize on Bejor’s pain : there were no life signs. Our hope that there may be survivors on Bejor was crushed – it is truly a dead world. A dead world. The words send chills down the spine. Can there be any greater crime in this cosmos? Complete extermination of life – of all life represents. All that life may become, turned to dust. A dead world. Nothing less than an act of capricious gods. Klingon’s killed their gods for far less. Nezak beginning to hack the Breen ships is when the trouble started. Some kind of failsafe in their systems sent out a pulse… a pulse that drew the attention of the Crystal bastards. As he continued to force his way into the Breen networks, he did nothing but attract more attention … but we did not come for half measures. It was time. I beamed onto the drifting shuttle, not knowing what to expect. It burned. As if I was in the cold of Boreth once again, but a thousand times over. Like the flames of Mount Ra’m, licking at my skin. The Crystalline Entities not only saw me, I could feel their hate. And… their fear. Not just two or four, but all of them, thousands it seemed, enough to completely encircle Bejor, turning their focus on me. The enemy. Good. If I gave Nezak the time he needed, I would bear this burden. By the strength of Kahless - by the rage of Morath - I stepped from my body. Though my skin boiled, and blood ran from my eyes, wearing my armor, I felt safe. Strong. Wearing my armor. I reached out to these beings, attempting to understand… …''Molor. Molor across the stars. Molor burning bright. Hated Molor, evil Molor, a thousand faces, a million, stretching across the galaxy. Molor watching them from every star… '' I know Nezak continued, but I didn’t know his status. I didn’t know air, or my own face. I knew nothing but heat and pain and… fear. But not mine - I fear nothing. Theirs. The burning eyes of a thousand Crystal beings, and they cannot end me - I am the one they fear. I ride at Molor’s side, I am the ship, the blood. The black and orange nebula, the volcano of Ra’m, and I know my armor will keep me safe. It is not just metal, it is my skin, my heart, and it will not – '' The familiar pull of the Kahless’ teleporter rips me from my reverie – the Crystalline Entities have surrounded my ship, Bejor’s fate about to be my own… I am just a boy, too small for science. Blood runs down my cracked, burned skin, and everything is pain – “MAK’TAH” I screamed at Nezak from scorched lips as I materialize on the Kahless’ bridge. My armor smoking, or perhaps it was my skin, and everything tasted like nightmares… \/ I’m told I didn’t collapse. I’m not sure how, as I certainly don’t remember warping from Bejor’s orbit. I don’t remember when I was told about our success. Seven Breen ships. Seven Breen ships needing almost 5000 men to crew, men we did not have, but seven strong, powerful ships. What I do remember is a chunk of metal. A wad that Nezak had recovered, while I burned. I didn’t understand how hard he had worked to make it into a reality, how many science manuals he had combed through, how much obscure information he had unearthed. He had put the entire ship and crew at risk… to recover a weakly flashing positronic brain. Data. My friend, the clockwork captain. More than the ships, more than my pride… we had saved a good man. Not that he was anything more than a wad as of yet, but still. Nezak saved him. I trust Nezak will bring him back. My estimation of the green blood – the Vulcan – grows higher still. We had saved one life. It was time to save more. The survivors on Tribble Prime had waited long enough- we would not have them wait any longer. The Breen vessels are powerful, but they have no cloak. For a stealth mission, they are less than ideal. There is an officer, a Federation officer, who has taken to the Red Path with all of her being. She is a believer, and more importantly, she kept the Kahless safe under fire while we were trapped in the accursed tunnels of Gamma Trianguli. Captain Rebecca Allen of the Red Path… a human… I put her in charge of the Breen ships with a skeleton crew, and ordered her to lay low. Nezak found them an excellent place to remain hidden … I trust they’ll stay safe until we return. With Nezak in command of the Morath, and myself back on the Kahless’ bridge, we made for the Klingon border. The first time we’ve been home. I told my men that we were returning as liberators, and that our heads should be held high. I pray I don’t prove myself a liar. Three ships patrolled the border, bisecting our route. We could have destroyed them, but not without risk to our weakened ships. Nezak was the one to remind me that blood split for the sake of spilling blood is not our way… he was able to blind the enemy craft’s scanners, and we moved past undetected. Every living Klingon is a Klingon who may be won to our cause… I was glad to not take their lives. Something did trouble us however, as our scans dug deep into the enemy vitals… the heavy cruiser that patrolled with the two Birds of Prey had a power source that was… uncanny. Even Nezak, fatted on the glories of Starfleet technology, was shocked. Someone far smarter than my brother was upgrading his war machine, and that can only spell trouble for the galaxy. Above Tribble Prime, my men let out a whoop of glee. I felt it in my heart as well – Tribble Prime, site of one of the Klingon Empire’s most glorious victories. The extermination of the fluffy Tribble threat, by nuclear sub orbital bombardment. A thermonuclear solution… a dead world. The taste in my mouth turned to ash. I cheered with my men, but… a dead world. This was our glorious Klingon history. Our legacy. My stomach turned. We located a small collection of life signs, growing weaker by the moment. A garbled transmission from the planet’s irradiated surface left little doubt in my mind that it was time to act. Leaving the Morath in orbit, I took the Kahless into the atmosphere. The radiation ripped at our shields, and it proved impossible to get a transporter lock. I ordered us to the planet’s surface, and our hull started to buckle. To save these few, our lives may be forfeit… The moment the survivors were on board, we lifted off. Though the bulkheads burned with heat, the Kahless is a strong ship, and made it back to orbit. Splitting the survivors between both ship’s medical bays, we saved 80 souls. Sick with radiation poisoning, hungry and haggard, but alive. The man in charge was a face I knew. A face all Klingon’s knew, and trusted. A good man, who knows the value of an open hand… and a closed fist. General Worf. I don’t think Worf likes me. He embraces the cause, but more for Martok’s sake then mine… he distrusts religious zealotry. That’s fine – I distrust almost everyone. It was Nezak, once again, who resolved the situation; not through anything he said – I think his fawning over the ex-Federation commander put Worf off his gagh – but the fact that aboard these ships we were doing something that he had dreamed of all his life. Cooperation between Starfleet and Empire. Looking past skin, to the heart that beats beneath. I questioned Worf about the Sword of Kahless, the relic he had been chasing on Gamma Trianguli, and he confirmed for me what I had suspected – the blade wielded by the Emperor is a fake, a prop created to fool the masses. The blade that took my father’s head from his neck. But Worf had a larger revelation in store: the Emperor Kahless himself is a clone. He undoubtedly meant it to shock, perhaps expecting me to fall back on my heels. Faint perhaps, or beat my breast. But though I’ve never known, I’ve always known. “… ''the wooden boy was rotten to his core… “ What I remember from meeting the Emperor as a boy was his smell. Pungent, like ripened blood wine… and though he was an older man, he was loud and powerful, viral and strong. When I met the Emperor on Qi’lop, when my world fell apart around me, there was the same smell. The same strength, the same virility… “''He painted his face to look true. He learned to act the part. But he was always a boy, who could not learn. He could never grow up.” '' He hadn’t aged. Not like a true man. Not like a true son of the Empire. He was a thing, and in my heart, I have always known the truth. It’s what my father was trying to tell me. A wooden boy can never be trusted. He is an abomination, and there is only one solution for such a curse. Worf has given us a target, too sweet to ignore. On the prison planet Rura Penthe is a man known only as The Engineer - he is the one upgrading my brother’s forces. A strike there would cripple his war effort, and send a message too powerful for the Empire to ignore. Khaegor’s breaths are numbered. The Red Path is going to War.